


The Chauffeur and The Consultant

by eragon19



Series: More Than We Bargained For [1]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Different First Meeting, First Kiss, Fluff, M/M, Romance, a little bit of case fic, fluff you could break your teeth on
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-26
Updated: 2017-06-26
Packaged: 2018-11-19 10:53:26
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,881
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11311902
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/eragon19/pseuds/eragon19
Summary: Invalided home from Afghanistan, John Watson takes a job as a chauffeur with Stamford's Limo Service to make ends meet.  The work is mundane, with his clients usually ignoring him for the most part, until he drives his first run-away-groom; Sherlock Holmes.





	The Chauffeur and The Consultant

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you to [221BeStillMyHeart](http://archiveofourown.org/users/HighTimesWithHiddles/pseuds/221BeStillMyHeart) for being an amazing beta!

John leaned against the limo and gazed up at the bright blue sky. The wind rustled the tree branches and blew the clouds sluggishly across the sky. All in all it was a lovely day.

 

He tugged the sleeve of his black uniform jacket up to peer at his watch. He was wearing the standard uniform of every chauffeur employed by Stamford’s Limo Service; a black suit and tie, over a crisp white shirt and a typical chauffeur hat. All in all very mundane, as was his job, but work was work, and as a recently invalided army doctor, John needed whatever work he could get. 

 

A cool breeze blew, tugging at John’s jacket. John tipped his head back and closed his eyes, enjoying the warmth of the summer sun on his face and the light breeze on his neck. It was the perfect day for a wedding, which is exactly where John was taking his latest client; Sherlock Holmes. 

 

When Mike had given John the job, the name had sounded familiar, and a quick google search proved him right. He had heard of Sherlock Holmes before; the man had made the papers a few months ago when he found a kidnapped MP, and he’d made waves by refusing the knighthood he’d been offered for all his trouble. John had found the entire story ridiculous, and had soon forgotten the man, until he’d been booked to drive his wedding to investment banker, Victor Trevor. 

 

John glanced at his watch again, Sherlock was only five minutes late, not that John was worried. He always got his client’s to their destination on time, it was his speciality. He opened the back door of the limo and stuck his head in, making sure the interior was spotless. He knew it was, but it was something to do until the groom showed up. He was double checking the tiny fridge when a deep voice caught his attention.

 

“Is everything ready?”

 

“Mr. Holmes?” John asked as he ducked out of the car.

 

Then he saw him.

 

He was easily one of the most handsome men John had ever seen. Thick brown curls, a lush lower lip and the incredibly  high cheek bones made him stare before he caught himself.

 

“Yes we’re all set. Whenever you’re ready to leave Mr. Holmes,” John said, unable to resist flicking his eyes quickly up and down the long lean body encased in a perfectly tailored morning suit. 

 

The man didn’t notice, too busy tugging at his tie. He looked nervous, which was unsurprising, but to John, who had seen his fair share of nervous grooms, Holmes looked worse than usual. Most grooms looked nervous, but elated to be going to their wedding. Sherlock looked like he was about to vomit. 

 

John held the door open and patiently waited for his passenger. He didn’t know the man, so it wasn’t his place to ask questions. Sherlock quietly slid into the back seat and John hopped in the front, starting the car and pulling smoothly into light traffic. 

 

“We’ll still be there on time, and I have three alternate routes planned in case we run into any trouble,” he said, flicking a glance at his passenger in the rearview mirror. 

 

The man had his chin in his hand and was staring glumly out the window. The sunlight hit his hair, highlighting the voluptuous curl that fell over his forehead and throwing his cheekbones into stark relief. 

 

John turned his eyes back to the road, he needed to get a grip.

 

“You won’t need them. Based on the typical traffic patterns we’ll only have a bit of traffic two roads away from the church, but not enough to make us late, and it’s a typical day.”

 

“It’s not typical, it’s your wedding day,” John said trying to cheer the other man up. No one should be glum on their wedding day.

 

Eyes on the road, he could only hear Sherlock’s sigh, but it was enough to imagine the slumped shoulders that went along with it. They drove on in silence for a few moments before John decided to try again.

 

“I read about that case you solved in the papers.”

 

“I’ve solved many cases that were in the papers,” came the acerbic reply.

 

Well then.

 

“The one with the kidnapped MP,” John said, struggling to keep the mood light and glancing at Sherlock in the rearview mirror.

 

The corner of his lips raised in the barest of smiles, “That was a fun one,” Sherlock said, his eyes going distant with the memory.

 

“Fun?” 

 

The sigh came again.

 

“Not the kidnapping, the  _ kidnapper.  _ He was actually clever.” 

 

John couldn’t help but chuckle quietly over the petulance in the man’s tone. 

 

“I guess the clever ones are few and far between?” he asked, eyes on the road as he turned a corner. 

 

“You have no idea.” 

 

They lapsed into silence once more, the only sound the hum of the engine. Sherlock looked paler and paler as they drove on,and John was seriously worried he might faint. 

 

“So you’re a private detective?” John asked at the next red light. He sat back slightly to wait, knowing these particular lights took at least five minutes to change, and distracting Sherlock might help him feel better.

 

“Consulting detective,” Sherlock said quietly nibbling on his lower lip, his eyes a million miles away.

 

“How is that different?”

 

Sherlock looked at him, eyes flashing, “It means when the police are too idiotic to see what’s right before their eyes, which is always, they call me.”

 

“Seriously?’ John asked, focused on the road once again as the light turned green, “The police consult an amateur?”

 

Sherlock scoffed and John caught him rolling his eyes as he checked his rearview mirror once again. 

 

The mood in the car turned decidedly frosty as they drove on, and John gave up chatting as a bad job. The doctor in him couldn’t help but glance at the man whenever he could, Sherlock didn’t look well  _ at all _ . 

 

When they turned onto the road with the church where Sherlock would be wed, the man’s breathing turned harsh, and he tugged frantically at his tie, scrabbling to get it off. He flung the striped fabric across the backseat and ripped at the top buttons of his shirt. The little plastic disks went flying, baring the top of his chest. Sherlock’s hands went to his hair, tugging frantically at the long, dark locks as he doubled over.

 

John swore under his breath and pulled onto the side of the road. In seconds he was out of the car and yanking open the back door. 

 

“Mr. Holmes, Mr. Holmes breath for me,” John said, keeping his voice low and gentle. 

 

He slid in next to the man and guided his head between his knees, keeping a hand between his shoulder blades to ground him.

 

“Breath with me, in and out, that’s it.” John said, taking slow exaggerated breaths.

 

The minutes ticked by and Sherlock’s breathing slowly evened out, his grip on his hair loosening. Still hunched over, the man mumbled something under his breath and John leaned in closer to hear.

 

“What was that?”

 

“I said, it’s a good thing my driver is an army doctor,” Sherlock said sitting up slowly, his face still blanched. 

 

John blinked at him a moment, “How’d you know that?”

 

“I didn’t know, I noticed.” 

 

“Well, how’d you notice then?” John asked, bewildered and intrigued.

 

Sherlock turned to him, his eyes glinting in a way that made John acutely aware of his hand still between the man’s shoulders. He slowly pulled it back, his eyes locked with the other man’s. In the bright sunlight his eyes were a pale green, when John could have sworn they were blue. 

 

“Your hair cut and bearing scream military. You stood at parade rest by the car, but were unaware of it because it came naturally to you. Then there’re your tan lines, they stop at the wrists and neckline, clearly not from holiday, but in line with someone who’s worn a uniform in the sun. certainly not the type of sun you get in London. Army’s the obvious answer. Then there’s the way you leaned over me when you were helping. Your body curled over me and turned inward, shielding me the way military doctors lean over patients they’re treating in the field. So it’s not too large a leap to say that you’re an army doctor recently returned from either Afghanistan or Iraq and you’ve taken a job as a driver to make ends meet.”

 

John stared at Sherlock, his mouth slightly agape, the man stared back, his pale face guarded. 

 

“That- that was amazing.”

 

“Really,?” Sherlock said, sounding stunned.

 

“Yes really, extraordinarily, brilliant.”

 

Sherlock smiled, his cheeks turning pink and John found himself grinning at the endearing sight, warmth pooling in his gut. 

 

“It was Afghanistan by the way, I just got home three months ago.”

 

Sherlock nodded, his smile fading as something over John’s shoulder caught his eye. John followed his gaze and felt his own smile slip as he caught sight of the church steeple. Right, he was driving Sherlock to his  _ wedding _ . 

 

“God, what am I  _ doing _ ?” Sherlock’s quiet voice cut through the silence that had settled over the backseat.

 

His head was in his hands again and John hurried to calm him, not wanting another panic attack to happen. 

 

“I- I can’t do this.” Sherlock sat up suddenly, his eyes wild. “I can’t, God  _ look  _ at me!”

 

His eyes were glued to his trembling hands as they hovered in front of his face. 

 

“I’m supposed to be above all of this, and Victor is- he- I-

 

Sherlock wrapped his arms around his middle and leaned over, jamming his head between his knees. John gently patted him on the back, before giving in and wrapping his arm around lean shoulders. 

 

“Hey, hey,  it’ll be alright. Once you get to the church you’ll feel better I’m sure.” 

 

John wasn’t sure at all, but had no idea what to say in this situation. 

 

“No, no it won’t,” Sherlock mumbled. He sat up suddenly almost heading butting John in the nose and jostling John’s arm from around his shoulders. 

 

He twisted to face John and their eyes locked again. Sherlock’s eyes were burning with too many things for John to process and John swallowed hard, tearing his eyes away from Sherlock’s overly intense gaze. Unfortunately, his eyes landed on Sherlock’s heaving chest. A deep v of pale skin was visible thanks to the ripped shirt buttons, giving John a perfect view of the groove between Sherlock’s pectorals. He was sure if Sherlock turned to the side he might very well see his nipples. 

 

John shook his head, his thoughts finally catching up to his actions. He was driving the man to his  _ wedding  _ for fuck’s sake!

 

“I-I don’t want to get married.”

 

John could only blink up at him, shocked. Sherlock wasn’t even looking at him anymore, his eyes gazing into the middle distance, over John’s shoulder.

 

“I don’t want to. God, Mycroft was right, the bastard,” Sherlock continued to himself, shaking his head and curling his hands into fists. 

 

“But- but don’t you love him?” John asked, struggling to keep up. 

 

Sherlock snorted, focusing on him again. 

 

“No, no I don’t  _ love  _ him.”

 

“Then why are you-

 

“Mummy,” Sherlock said ominously, glaring off over John’s shoulder once again.

 

“Your mother’s making  you-

 

“She thinks it’ll keep me straight- well when I say straight,” Sherlock said, rolling his eyes.

 

John blinked up at him before he felt the first snicker slip out of his mouth.

 

He tried to keep it in, knowing laughing while the man was having a crisis would probably earn him a well deserved punch to the face, but he couldn’t help it. The laughter just spilled out of him over the ridiculousness of Sherlock making a straight joke during the worst case of cold feet John had ever seen. 

 

Sherlock looked at him, confused, and John clamped a hand over his mouth, trying to smother his giggles.

 

“God, I’m sorry! It’s not- I’m not laughing at you! It’s just ‘keep me straight’.” John squeezed out between giggles.

 

Sherlock blinked at him a moment, before he started smiling himself. Soon, he was laughing along with John, a frantic edge to his laughter.

 

“What-what am I doing?” Sherlock managed to gasp, once their giggle fit had passed. 

 

“I honestly don’t know,” John said, wiping his eyes. 

 

Sherlock groaned and pressed a hand over his eyes, slouching down against the seat.

 

“Listen Sherlock,” John said hesitantly, hoping he wasn’t about to give the worst advice of his life, “If you really, honestly, don’t want to go through with this you don’t have to. I’ll take you anywhere you want to go.”

 

Sherlock dropped his hand and stared at John, “You would?”

 

“Of course,” John said, his voice gentle, “You’re the client, just tell me where you want to go.”

 

“I don’t even know your name.”

 

“Oh. It’s John, John Watson. Now where to,” John said, tweaking his chauffeur hat in a parody of every cheesy telly chauffeur he’d seen.

 

Sherlock gave him a weak smile, before looking away, his eyes going distant. “The London zoo?” he asked, his voice very soft.

 

John’s brow furrowed at the odd choice. He’d been expecting Sherlock to ask to go home, but if that’s where he wanted to go…

 

“All right then,” John said, “the zoo it is.” 

 

He hopped out of the backseat and, to his surprise, Sherlock followed, sliding into the front passenger seat without a word.

 

John smiled at him and nodded toward to radio.

 

“Play anything you like,” he said, pulling away from the curb.

 

Sherlock gave him a small smile in return, his face still a little grey, and began fiddling with the dials. 

 

 

***

 

Well, of all the ways John had expected his day to go, this certainly wasn’t it. He licked absentmindedly at his ice-cream cone, eyes glued to the penguins toddling behind the glass in front of him.  He was certainly  _ not  _ staring at the man stood no less than two inches from the glass, his eyes unfocused. Clearly Sherlock wasn’t looking at the penguins, even thought he’d insisted they head there first. John didn’t blame him for being distracted, the man had just walked out on his wedding. 

 

When they’d gotten to the zoo, John expected waiting in the car while his client walked around. He’d been hoping to call Mike to explain what had happened, but instead Sherlock he looked at him expectantly after he’d slid out of the car, and waited for him to follow.

 

Normally John would have told him to go on his own, that he was a chauffeur not a babysitter, but something about Sherlock made him sigh and toss his hat into the backseat, before following the man to the entrance. 

 

At one in the afternoon on a school day the zoo was fairly quiet, though they still got funny looks dressed as they were. Sherlock had wandered aimlessly at first, drifting from exhibit to exhibit, until John had taken over and asked what his favorite animal was. 

 

Since they weren’t any bee exhibits at the zoo, they’d settled on Sherlock’s second favourite; the penguins. John had bought them ice-cream on the way over, mostly because he was hungry, and also he thought a little sugar might help Sherlock feel better. 

 

Now here he was, finishing his ice-cream and trying not to stare at the man in front of him. It was difficult. The blue light from the enclosure backlit him beautifully, and John couldn’t help but admire the long lines of Sherlock’s legs and the broadness of his shoulders. The wind and Sherlock’s fingers had ruffled his hair, make it look sleep tousled in a way John really shouldn’t be thinking of.

 

He swallowed hard, and stuffed the rest of his cone into his mouth. Time to move on to another exhibit, and pull Sherlock out of his thoughts. He was trying to cheer him up, and being caught ogling would ruin John’s best efforts. 

 

Just he was about to open his mouth, Sherlock’s phone rang. The man pulled it out of his pocket, peered at the screen and sighed. With a roll of his eyes, he silenced the call and stuffed it back into his pocket. 

 

Deciding it was none of his business, John opted not to ask about the phone call.

 

“Come on then,” he said, snapping Sherlock back to the present, “Let’s head over to the tigers, shall we?”

 

Sherlock nodded, before taking a long, absent minded lick of ice-cream that had John looking away. 

 

***

 

 

They were in front of the tiger cages, watching the big cats prowl around and play, when Sherlock’s phone buzzed again. This time John was close enough to see ‘Mycroft’ lighting up the screen. Sherlock silenced the call again, looking vaguely disgruntled. 

 

“Is that your brother?”

 

Sherlock nodded, not looking at him.

 

“Maybe you should answer, at least so he’ll stop calling,” John ventured, thinking of how worried he’d be if Harry had skipped out on her wedding without a word. 

 

Sherlock looked at him a moment, before turning back to the cages. 

 

“Did you know house cats meow purely to communicate with humans?”

 

John felt his eyebrows raise, it was the first thing Sherlock had said since they’d entered the zoo, and while odd at least he’d said something.

 

“No I didn’t.” John said, trying to think of a question that wasn’t too inane to keep Sherlock talking. 

 

Sherlock nodded, “That’s why you’ll never hear wild cats meow, or house cats meow to each other. It’s purely to talk to us.”

 

“Huh”, John said nodding, and feeling a little amused. “What else do you know?”

 

“Well I know the handler has a sore shoulder and at least one of the tigers has a very bad cavity.” He turned to face John, lowering his voice, “I also know that woman standing behind us is wondering why we came to the zoo after our wedding.”

 

John grinned at this easy show of intellect, “Go on then, explain it to me.”

 

Sherlock hesitated, and John smiled wider in encouragement. 

 

“You know you want to.”

 

Sherlock looked a touch hesitant, before squaring his shoulders and delivering a string of deductions involving the hay in the enclosure, the wood of the sleeping quarters and the woman’s sun hat, that left John dazzled.

 

“Brilliant!” John thrilled honestly, unable to help the amazed smile that spread across his face.

 

Sherlock was about to reply, his cheeks pink, when his phone rang. Once again John spied Mycroft's name flashing across the screen.

 

Sherlocked looked at it a moment, then up at John, before answering the call.

 

“Yes Mycroft?” he said, managing to sound bored and tired at the same time.

 

There was the sound of fast talking on the other line, too fast to make out words. Realising he was listening, John turned back to the tigers to give Sherlock some semblance of privacy. 

 

“No, I’m fine. I’m at the zoo. Yes the  _ zoo _ , Mycroft. I’m with John, my chauffeur. He was kind enough to keep me company.” 

 

There was a sigh of exasperation over whatever Mycroft said.

 

Sherlock was silent for a beat, then; “No, don’t send a car. I’d like to walk around for a bit. Like I  _ said _ , I’m not alone. There’s no need to worry, are you turning into mummy now?” Sherlock spat the last words as if it were the vilest insult he could think of.

 

The voice on the other end of the line got a touch louder, and John had to suppress a smile. Their mother must be something... _ special _ indeed.

 

Sherlock wandered away, to the edge of the cages, still listening to his brother. John couldn’t help but feel slightly saddened by the fact that Sherlock had chosen to spend what had to be an emotionally trying day with an abject stranger instead of his own family. That hit close to home for John, who cringed at the thought of being in a similar situation with Harry. He quickly smothered his feelings of sympathy. He hadn’t known Sherock long, but he knew enough to know the man wouldn’t appreciate pity.

 

“ _ Yes _ , I visited the Penguins….

 

Sherlock voice drifted over on the breeze, sounding every bit the put upon younger sibling and John stifled a laugh. 

 

He watched one tiger grooming another as Sherlock talked, glad to note the man seemed calmer the longer he talked to his brother. 

 

Finally Sherlock walked back over to him, slipping his phone into his pocket. John looked up at him with a smile, happy to see that Sherlock did look a lot calmer than he had before.

 

“That’s older brothers for you,” John said with a smile.

 

Sherlock’s eyes narrowed, “How do you know he’s older?”

 

“I’m an older sibling and Harry’s used that tone with me loads of times,” John said. For some reason he was unable to stop smiling.

 

“Tone?” Sherlock said, his brow furrowed, and John hurried to elaborate before he offended him.

 

“The petulance when you think we’re being too nosey,” he said with a wink.

 

Sherlock smiled at that, “Mycroft would agree with you there, though for once I’m actually happy he was nosey. It helped stop me from making an enormous  mistake.”

 

The two of them started walking again, the breeze ruffling their ties and tugging at Sherlock’s jacket tails.

 

“Mycroft was kind enough to handle mummy for me, thought I expect I’ll have to talk to her myself at some point.” Sherlock grimaced at the thought. “Victor- Victor was understandably upset, though Mycroft didn’t seem to care about that, and well- to be perfectly frank- neither do I.”

 

Sherlock took a deep breath and blew it out harshly, “Victor wasn’t the...best of partners…

 

He trailed of, a story behind his eyes and John quietly waited for him to elaborate.

 

“He was distant at the best of times, and at his worst...well that’s not worth talking about.”

 

A chill went down John’s spine at the words, “He didn’t- god- he didn’t hurt you, did he?” John said, already feeling ill disposed toward the shadowy figure of Victor Trevor.  

 

Sherlock shot him a rueful smile, “No, Mycroft would have seen to him if he had. He was just...very wrapped up in his own affairs. I was a bit of an afterthought most of the time. I was heavily focused on my own work too, so I guess that why I thought we could work when Mummy started putting on the pressure,  but when we were together he still didn’t seem present….”

 

Sherlock’s voice trailed off again, and he frowned as if disturbed by how much he’d revealed. John, for his own part, was wondering how out of place it would be to tell Sherlock he’d made the right choice by not going through with it. 

 

“He went on our honeymoon.”

 

John stopped and stared at Sherlock, who gave him a little lip twitch in return.

 

“Are you serious?”

 

Sherlock nodded, continuing along the path, “Can’t say I blame him. I did leave him at the alter.”

 

John chuckled softly, “At least you don’t have to worry about him showing up at your flat and punching you.” 

 

Sherlock laughed softly, “There’s that.”

 

They walked along in companionable silence, merely glancing at the other cages and exhibits they passed.  

 

“I’m tired of this John, how about the London Eye?” Sherlock said, turning to look at him, “That is unless you have another job?”

 

John shook his head, smothering the quiet thrill over hearing that baritone say his name. “I’m free for the entire day, though I’ll need to call my boss to explain where the limo is.”

 

Sherlock gave him a tentative smile, his face brightening visibly, and John smiled back. “The Eye it is then.”

 

***

 

 

The London Eye was much more crowded than the zoo, with families on vacation crowding the pod with their packages and backpacks. John stood next to Sherlock in their pod, supposedly watching the view of parliament slide past, instead he was staring at Sherlock’s blurry reflection in the glass wall. They’d both left their jackets in the limo, and Sherlock had rolled up his sleeves, baring wiry muscled forearms that were distracting John more than they reasonably should. His profile looked beautifully cut in the translucent reflection and John found himself making a conscious effort to subtly stare. 

 

Sherlock looked much more relaxed than earlier, he was chatting more and occasionally leaning to whisper deductions about the other passengers in John’s ear. John relished these moments, enjoying the warmth of Sherlock’s body and the smell of him when he leaned close. 

 

“John,” Sherlock rumbled, leaning in closer than he had before, until his lips were brushing John’s ear.

 

John swallowed hard, a tingle going through him at the brush of Sherlock’s lips against the shell of his ear and Sherlock’s sexy cologne surrounding him. 

 

“There’s a thief on board.”

 

John’s thoughts came to a screeching halt. 

 

“What?”

 

“There’s a thief on the pod with us” Sherlock breathed, “I noticed him when we were waiting in line. Look at the man in white.” 

 

He nodded toward the glass, and in the murky reflection John saw a tall man in white holding a bag in his lap, snapping photos of the scenery with his mobile. As John watched, the man set his bag on the ground, right over a woman’s purse, then he casually stood, as if moving to get a better angle. When he scooped up his bag, the woman’s purse was gone. 

 

John’s eyes widened. From the man’s movements John could tell the bag was heavy, how many people had he robbed?

 

“Ingenious isn’t it?” Sherlock whispered. 

 

He slid even closer until he was bracketing John’s body with his own, his chest pressed against John’s back. 

 

“The bag has a false bottom with a lever in the handle to release it. He squeezes the lever as he sets it over his target, and then  _ presto _ ,” Sherlock flicked one wrist and wiggled his fingers, “The item is swooped up.”

 

“Ingenious indeed,” John said with a chuckle, tipping his head back against Sherlock’s chest to see his face. He also got a nice, close up look of that long, strong neck, much to his delight. “So, how do we get him?”

 

Sherlock looked down at him, giving John an upside-down view of his shocked face, “Are you serious?”

 

“Well, yes. You’re a detective aren’t you?” John said with a grin, his eyes drifting to Sherlock’s lips. 

 

Sherlock’s tongue peeked out to wet them, and John had to swallow a groan. This man was going to be the death of him and they’d just met. He  _ definitely  _ had to see Sherlock again after today. 

 

Just then, the pod began to slow as it finished a revolution, The man in white quickly stood and made his ways to the doors. John and Sherlock hurried after him, but a wall of tourists and their cargo blocked their way. 

 

“Stay on him, John” Sherlock whispered, as the pod doors opened and the man in white hurried out, trying to blend in with the crowd.

 

John and Sherlock quickly followed. John tried his best to act casual, an act that quickly went out the window when Sherlock’s large hand enveloped his own, those long pale fingers sliding between his own. 

 

“What are y-

 

“Blending in, John shhh,” Sherlock said, his eyes glowing, “We need to try to get closer.”

 

John nodded, smiling as Sherlock gave his hand a squeeze. Sure they were chasing a thief, but that didn’t mean he could enjoy a handsome man holding his hand. 

 

“Oh he has an accomplice,” Sherlock said suddenly, snapping John’s mind back to the present.

Indeed he did. The man in white was heading toward a car idling by the pavement. Military mind kicking into gear, John sprung into action. 

 

He dropped Sherlock’s hand and rushed after the thief. He was only a few meters away when the man noticed and took off running, John hot on his heels. 

 

The man had long legs on his side, but John had a trick up his sleeve. With the getaway car looming, John put on a burst of speed and jumped onto a bench alongside the pavement. He ran along the length of the bench and using the edge as a springboard, caught the thief with a flying tackle.

 

The getaway car screeched away as the thief fell with a cry. John hurriedly sat astride his back, pinning the man’s wrists behind him. Sherlock came running up, his chest heaving and staring at John as if he’d never seen him before. His eyes were sparking with energy and a deeper, hedonistic glint that made heat pool in John’s abdomen. 

 

“Wonderful John!” Sherlock cried. 

 

John shot him a grin, the adrenaline singing through his veins. The thrill only increased when he took in Sherlock’s lean form as the man stood over him. His shirt clung to his broad chest, the ripped buttons exposing a delightful sliver of creamy skin, pulled taut over muscle. The wind had picked up slightly and John could just see the points of Sherlock’s nipples through the fabric. 

 

God, the things John wanted to  _ do _ to him.

 

“I’ll just call Lestrade,” Sherlock continued, pulling his phone from his pocket, and John from his thoughts, “Oh calm down all of you, this man’s a thief,” he barked at the gawking crowd, eyes still glued to his phone. 

 

“Who’s Lestrade?”John panted.

 

“A DI I work with at the yard, he should have left the church by now.”

 

John chuckled and turned his attention back to the thief, who was grunting under John’s weight.

 

“Stay still now, don’t make me accidentally break something.” 

 

The thief spat a curse as Sherlock chuckled, the phone pressed to his ear. 

 

A surprisingly short amount of time later, another car pulled up and a silver haired man hopped out. When he caught sight of Sherlock and John, pinning the thief, he jogged over, anxiety marring his features. 

 

“What the hell Sherlock? What are you doing?” The man John assumed was Lestrade said, scrubbing a hand over his face.

 

“Your job, as usual.” Sherlock shot back, looking more smug than put out. 

 

Lestrade sighed and glanced at John, “And who the hell are you?” 

 

“This is John Watson. My-well- my-

 

Sherlock’s confident tone flattered  and John was quick to cut in.

 

“I’m a friend,” John said, giving Lestrade a smile, “I’d shake your hand, but, well.” He looked pointedly down at the thief stilled pinned under him.

 

“Right yes!” Lestrade fished out a pair of handcuffs and took John’s place, “Greg Lestrade by the way,” he said, snapping the bracelets onto the thief before hauling him upright. 

 

“Evidence then, Sherlock?” he continued.

 

Sherlock launched into a retelling of their time on the pod, the thief’s bag as his support, and John marveled at the fact that the DI trusted Sherlock enough to cuff the man,  _ then  _ ask Sherlock for evidence. John knew he was staring, but he couldn’t be arsed to care. Especially when Sherlock kept meeting his eyes, his gaze taking on that same mix of adrenaline and lust it had earlier. 

 

Greg kept glancing between them, looking bewildered. When sherlock finished explaining everything he blew out a loud breath.

 

“Christ, Sherlock. I was expecting to see you get married today, not apprehend a criminal.”

 

Sherlock looked away, his lips pressed  together in a thin line,“Well...that didn’t quite workout, as I’m sure even you can see.”

 

Greg considered him a moment, his eyes going soft. “I’m glad. Trevor was a twat.”

 

Sherlock looked up, shocked, “You only met him once, for five minutes.”

 

“I’m a DI, I’m good at reading people,” Greg said with a comforting smile.

 

Sherlock still looked confused, thought his lips were tilted up in the barest of smiles.

 

“Anyway, I’d better get this one in,” Greg continued, clamping a hand on the thief’s shoulder. “I’ll call you when I need your statement. Have fun with your  _ friend _ .”

 

He shot John a wink, before hauling the thief to his feet and marching him off.

 

Sherlock and John stared after him a moment, blinking rapidly. John found he liked the DI. He turned to Sherlock, ready to say something complimentary about him, only to find Sherlock already looking at him, his eyes very warm. 

 

“How about the park John?” 

 

John smiled back, his cheeks feeling hot, “Let’s go.”

 

 

***

 

The park was busy, which was unsurprising given the time of day. They were people lounging on blankets, relaxing on the benches and John wondered where they would sit. He didn’t  fancy sharing a bench with anyone, and he wished they could be alone somewhere.

 

“Come with me,” Sherlock said, nudging John with his shoulder and smiling down at him.

 

John followed, intrigued as Sherlock lead him off the path and into the trees. 

 

“I found this spot during a case a few months ago,” Sherlock explained as they cut through the taller grass, with Sherlock occationaling moving thin branches out of the way for John.

 

Soon they came to a clearing in the middle of the trees, the sun was beating down, casting a warm, yellow light over the flowers blooming amongst the grass.

 

“Pretty,” John said, looking around and then at Sherlock, who smiled.

 

He seemed to be doing a lot of that since the case.

 

John followed him into the clearing and flopped down next to him on the soft grass, leaning back on his elbows. Sherlock sat crossed legged next to him, the two of them silent as they looked around.

 

“It’s so  _ quiet  _ here,” John said, eventually. “I mean, we’re about ten feet from other people, but I can’t hear a thing.”

 

Sherlock chuckled, “David Butterfield thought the same thing.”

 

“Who?”

 

“The man who murdered his co-worker over there,” Sherlock said, pointing to the treeline across the clearing.

 

John laughed, “Seriously?”

 

Sherlock nodded, his eyes glowing, “Most people wouldn’t find that funny.”

 

John knew it was cheesy, but he couldn’t help himself, “Well I guess I’m not like most people,” he said, hoping to make Sherlock laugh.

 

Instead, Sherlock’s lighthearted gaze turned to a smolder, “No John, you’re most certainly not.”

 

John felt his own smile slip and turn into something more lust driven. “Do you r-

 

Suddenly a gust of wind blew, sending blades of grass and dust blowing into their faces and eyes. John started to cough, and next to him Sherlock groaned and began rubbing his eyes. When John finally recovered, Sherlock was red eyed next to him, with bits of grass and a stray flower petal caught in his hair. 

 

Grinning John pulled the petal from Sherlock curls, letting his fingers linger a moment. The man had gorgeous hair.

 

He twirled the petal between his fingers and stretched out on the grass, propping his head up with one hand.

 

“Murder scene aside, it’s a lovely spot.”

 

“Yes it is,” Sherlock said.

 

Their eyes met and Sherlock slowly leaned down, until he was hovering above John with a hand on either side of John’s head. John gave him a tiny smile, and Sherlock slowly closed the distance between them, and kissed him. 

 

His lips were soft against John’s in a light, barely there kiss. John hummed against his lips and slid his hands into Sherlock’s hair, letting the locks curl around his fingers. Sherlock deepened the kiss, his tongue parting John’s lips, softly, gently. 

 

John sighed against his mouth, his hands sliding down Sherlock’s neck and into the gaping collar of his shirt to caress his collar bones and curl around his shoulders. Their lips turned hungry and Sherlock pressed himself down until every line of his body was against John’s. John tightened his hold on Sherlock’s hair, tugging slightly and making the man gasp in a way that John liked very  _ very  _ much. 

 

Just as John was considering unbuttoning Sherlock’s shirt to get to his nipples, reality caught up with him. 

 

Today was supposed to have been Sherlock’s  _ wedding day. _

 

“Sherlock, Sherlock wait,” John panted, gently pushing at Sherlock’s shoulders.

 

The man pulled back, his mouth soft and swollen from kisses, and it took everything in John not to push him down onto the grass and ravish him. 

 

Sherlock blinked at him a moment, pulling back a little as his eyes went from lust glazed to their usual sharpness.

 

“I’m sorry, John,” Sherlock said, looking away, “I shouldn’t have assumed-

 

“No, it’s not that! It’s- well-

 

“It’s what?”

 

John rubbed the back of neck, marveling at how quickly they had gone from lustful to awkward.

 

“You were supposed to get married today.”

 

Sherlock winced and sat up, pulling away from John completely. 

 

“No, wait.” John said, hurriedly sitting up and taking Sherlock’s huge hands in his own. “I want to, believe me I want to. It’s just- you’re one of the most interesting people I’ve ever met and I don’t want this to be a rebound.”

 

Sherlock face went blank and pulled his hands out of John’s.

 

“Is that what you think this is?”

 

God, John was fucking this up.

 

“Well, we just met and you were supposed to get  _ married  _ to day. Your emotions are probably all over the place and-

 

“Do you think I don’t know my own emotions?” Sherlock asked, his voice frigid, “Do you really think I’d just-

 

“No! No,” John said, getting up onto his knees next to Sherlock, “God, I’m fucking this up spectacularly.”

 

“Yes you are, by all means keep going.” 

 

John scrubbed a hand over his face. Things had been going so well! 

 

“I don’t want to rush this, Sherlock,” John said slowly, getting ready to lay himself bear. “I don’t want your botched wedding hanging over this.”

 

Sherlock turned to look at him, and John gently took his hands again. Thankfully Sherlock didn’t pull away. 

 

“You’re the first person I’ve felt connected to since the war- hell probably even before that-  and  I want this to be- I want it to be special.” 

 

Sherlock looked at him.

 

“I want to take this slowly, because I think it could something great,” John said, hoping Sherlock wasn’t going to laugh in his face.

 

Sherlock was still staring, his face blank. John waited, brushing his thumbs gently over the backs of Sherlock’s hands.

 

“Do you really think so?” Sherlock said slowly, breaking the silence, much to John’s relief. 

 

“Yes I really do Sherlock. I think this could be special,” John said again, “And I don’t want to fuck it up. I don’t know if you feel the same way but-

 

“Yes I do,” Sherlock said simply, looking down at their hands.

 

“That’s- that’s great.”

 

Sherlock still wouldn't look at him.

 

John gently freed one of his hands tipped Sherlock’s face up to his. 

 

“I just,” Sherlock sighed, “I just want to forget about the blasted wedding.”

 

“I know,” John said, stroking Sherlock’s cheek with his thumb, “But I don’t want to be that.”

 

“You’re not,” Sherlock said quickly, his eyes widening, “That’s not what I was trying to do. I-I feel the same way you do.”

 

He covered John’s hand with his own and pulled it to his mouth, pressing a hard kiss against John’s knuckles.

 

John smiled, “So slowly then?”

 

Sherlock nodded, turning John’s hand over to press a kiss to his wrist. “Slowly,” he said, his lips dragging over the skin.

 

John shivered and pulled his hand away. Any more of that and he’d forget why he wanted to take it slow in the first place. He gave Sherlock a quick kiss on the cheek in apology. 

 

They looked at each other, each at a slight loss over what to do.

 

“Dinner?” Sherlock said hesitantly, “I can tell you Butterfield's motives, they were fascinating.”

 

“Starving,” John said with a smile.

 

He stood up and offered Sherlock his hand.

 

“I should probably change,” Sherlock said, looking down at his rumpled morning dress as they left the clearing and entered the busy park once again.

 

John nodded, “I need to return the car, Mike is only so patient.”

 

They looked at each other a moment. 

 

“I’ll take a cab home, you return the limo and we’ll meet later.” Sherlock said, “Do you know Angelo’s?”

 

John shook his head, feeling relieved Sherlock was taking charge. 

 

Sherlock quickly described where the restaurant was, “See you there at 8?” 

 

“Perfect,” John said with a smile. 

 

Sherlock smiled back, then took a small step forward and ducked down to give John a chaste kiss. John wrapped an arm around his waist and kissed back slowly, savouring it.

 

“Until then, John Watson,” Sherlock said softly, their lips an inch apart.

 

“Until then Sherlock.”

 

Sherlock smiled at him, before turning and heading for the road, John watching him go with a smile. On the pavement Sherlock turned and waved. John waved back before heading for the limo. He had to return it, then head home to prepare for his first date with one of the most interesting, amazing men he ever met. 

 

His first date with Sherlock Holmes. 


End file.
